All we know
by withered
Summary: Ichigo, still numb from the loss of his mother, isn't quite sure how alive he actually is. While Rukia, finally able to say goodbye to her sister after a long battle with cancer, has to deal with the next tragedy on her plate: life after Hisana. Neither had any intentions when they meet, by chance, in the cemetery, but Death always did have a way of bringing them together.
1. Chapter 1

All we know

.

It starts with a funeral.

Ichigo didn't know who's in the beginning, but the Universe worked in strange ways. He was seventeen, and his mother had been gone for so long his sisters only remember what she looked like because of that stupid blown up picture his dad has posted on the wall in the dining room.

He remembers her, though, rather vividly at that, and out in the rain – staring at the marker, and his reflection against the polished black stone – he thought, _You've always had the happiest eyes, Ma._ Because while he may scowl and glare, and look sullen and sour as a default, Ichigo knew he took after his mother.

It didn't matter how often he considered dying his hair, it was his mother that peered at him in the mirror when he looked at his reflection – checking out the damage from his most recent fight. It was why his hair is still orange despite his (unwarranted) claims to delinquency, the unwanted attention he receives, or the Karakura thugs who're stupid enough to try and get him to join their gangs after he'd beaten them to pulps. Morons.

But today wasn't about them, or how the only thing he's gotten from his mother was her coloring. Today, it was about her.

He offers the flowers before her, and tells her quietly, "I'm sorry I'm late", before rising back up from his haunches to stare at his blackened reflection, her name engraved in white.

Some distance away, just over the marker of her final resting place, a service is happening, and a sullen collection of people stand over a coffin that has already been buried.

Though everyone is dressed appropriately in black, there was a girl in the crowd, standing out like a sore thumb in all white.

Ichigo can practically hear the disapproval of her wardrobe choice from where he was, and he managed a grunt in agreement.

If it weren't for the umbrella she twisted about overhead, he might have even managed to add that to the list of reprimands against her.

He can't honestly do it, though, he was still in his school uniform and without his school blazer, no raincoat or umbrella in sight; he was already soaked to the bone. But that's not a new thing for him either.

Unconsciously, while he considers the script below _Kurosaki Masaki_ that reads _loving soul, wife and mother_ , he thought, rather morbidly, that today was a perfect day for a funeral: Dark clouds, storm approaching, rain everywhere.

His shoes make a squelching noise as he shifts.

God, he hates the rain.

His mother died in the rain when he was eight. They were walking home from karate practice and stopped at the grocery store to pick up a few things, the grocer had dropped an extra jar of sweets for him to share with his sisters; his mother and he shared an ice-cream.

That was as far as he ever delved, as far as his mind would take him – and then it's all just flashes of moments, like discarded polaroids he keeps in a box somewhere: The contents of the grocery bag scattered along the pavement, that extra jar of sweets destroyed; her shout for him to get out of the way; the screech of tires; her eyes (brown as his, wide as his, scared as his –), and then - and then, she's lying face down in a pool of blood that's red-red-red.

The sirens usually wake him from his reverie, the color of blue and red more than the wail of it, but this time it's the faint color of purple, and the pitter-patter sounds of rain bouncing off an umbrella that isn't his.

He blinks.

"You'll get sick."

His voice is hoarse from disuse, "That matters to you?"

"Not particularly." He can see the white of her dress in the corner of his vision, her voice deeper than he expected. "But I don't think she'd be happy to know that you're standing here in the rain."

 _Kurosaki Masaki_ stared at him, and in looking away, he sees the girl beside him.

 _She's so short_ is the first thing that comes to mind, that, and despite the torrent, she doesn't look touched by the rain at all. _Must be nice_ , he thinks bitterly.

"Idiot, don't you own an umbrella?" is her next remark.

"Didn't think it was going to rain," he retorts.

"Don't you watch the weather report in the morning?"

"I didn't know I was coming here until I did." Until he had the absurd thought that he hadn't visited his mother in a while, that he missed her birthday; that her death anniversary was too far away – Until he had her favorite flowers in his hand from that same grocer he saw the day she died, until he was on the train to get _here_.

Her voice is quiet, "She must've missed you."

It's suddenly hard to swallow, but he echoes nonetheless, "Yeah, maybe."

They stand in silence for all of two minutes before he hears himself say, "She's been gone a long time though."

A tragedy, Ichigo has come to realize, watching the group of people linger around the erected gazebo near the freshly dug grave, is an event.

Some simply bear witness, distant observers to a performance they find themselves sitting in on.

The thought of them make his eyes itch with a phantom burn, makes him remember the shocked faces of the other pedestrians standing around doing nothing but _looking_. As if Ichigo is just an actor, like his mother is just some prop, like the accident that took her was part of some show.

Others though, others are reactors.

Those people that willingly engage, involve themselves, wanting to be part of it. Those that ask him, poke and prod him, wanting to know _what happened, are you alright, does it still hurt_?

Ichigo can't tell which he despises more.

After the accident, Ichigo didn't expect the wave of sympathy that had rushed him, hadn't been prepared to do anything but drown in it thanks to the weight of his mother's loss pulling him down-down-down.

Later, he'd learn to tread water when the tragedy was less a fascination and more a passing thought.

Every Mother's Day since, he silently stewed, and whenever someone asked what he was doing for his mom this year, forgetting that she had passed away at all, he mastered carelessly shrugging and replying blandly, "Flowers, I guess."

It was pointless to remind people that she was gone; he had no intention of rehashing a memory that haunts him so potently still, even if, as he's so often told himself, "It's too late to be sad."

The girl beside him, stands quietly beside him, eyes cast to the sky still cracked by a storm in the horizon. Over a rolling thunder, she says, "There's no expiry date for emotions."

He looks at her incredulously, but instead of being embarrassed (though he considers that she has no reason to be), she continues firmly, "Whatever you feel, let yourself feel it. You can't dilute yourself to make other people feel comfortable. You have to live with you; don't make it harder than it already is."

After standing side by side saying nothing else, they end up going to the coffee shop just outside the cemetery.

A black car waits for her on the curb, but she waves it off, the driver's side door shutting again with an almost resounding thud.

"Sorry for your loss," he finally remembers to say as they stand in the doorway of the coffee shop.

The firm shake she gives the umbrella is slightly firmer than necessary, and he catches the hard swallow she pushes down her throat, even as she nods, dark hair hiding blue eyes.

Resolutely, he orders for them once they're seated, and finally she speaks, "I don't even like hot chocolate."

"You're not human."

"I could be allergic." His expression is caught between a squint of disbelief and a thoughtful frown, and she snorts at his expression. "I'm not, but I could have been." A second later, she took a sip, all complaints gone, humming as she did, and all Ichigo can think with a smirk tugging at his lips was _this girl is full of shit_.

He finds out that her sister, who she had just buried, had passed away from a cancer that had spread at a rapid pace, overtaking every organ until she was being kept alive entirely by machines.

"Hisana wanted to go," she says firmly, though her eyes are glassy and even with the way she's rapidly blinking, the slight red tinge in them isn't hard to miss. "She was in pain, and she wanted to go."

"She stayed for you," and Ichigo doesn't know whether that's an explanation or an accusation, but she nods, nonetheless.

"For her husband too, she really loves him," she adds, and he doesn't correct her use of the present tense.

He doesn't tell her about his mother, and she doesn't ask, instead they talk about everything else:

How his father is insane, likely why after all these years he's yet to remarry. How her brother-in-law, distantly loving as he is, has a permanent stick up his ass.

How she loves horror movies but can't watch them by herself. How he knows all the subplots to the top three latest K-dramas because of his sisters which she called bullshit on that, and she was right (he watches it without them because Karin always ends up throwing something at the TV).

How she can pirouette in her sleep and recite the periodic table from most reactive element to least.

How he kidnaps his sisters from school whenever he knows they're having a bad day and treats them out to anything that makes them feel better.

How she ran away from home once but came back before anyone noticed because she realized her favorite show was on.

"You're literally the most dramatic dumbass I've ever met," he informs with a snort, hot chocolate finished, clothes uncomfortably damp.

"Excuse you; you didn't see the dress she wanted to stuff me in. I love Hisana, I do, but no one looks good masquerading as a mint green crème puff," she declares, arms crossed in a huff.

"So you decided the only way to handle it was to pack up your shit and hit the railroad tracks?"

She sniffs. "Clearly you have no appreciation for theatre."

"You came back," he reminds, "just because your show was on."

"It was the latest episode! He was going to find out that the kid was his!"

"And did he?"

"No, it was just another ships-passing-in-the-night moment, the jerks."

Before he can retort how typical that trope is, a man in a black suit walked in, speaking to his shoes as he bows to her, "Kuchiki-sama, your brother has requested for you to return home, you are due to start school tomorrow morning."

The smirk she's been sporting smooths over to one of forced indifference as she nods, before flashing a look at Ichigo that's neither a smile nor the mask she's conjured forth. "Thank you," her voice quivers for the first time, "I…I needed this."

"Yeah," he nods, "me too."

"Do you want a lift home?" she offers, making to stand and he, following like an idiot.

"Uh no." He rubs the back of his neck; conscious of the glare her driver was leveling him over her shoulder. "But I should probably go anyway. It's getting late. It was nice meeting you."

Her smile, a real smile, is brief. "You too, see you around."

Not even five minutes later, he's standing on the sidewalk watching the black car peel out, and Ichigo with a bemused smile notes that the sky is clearing up.

* * *

 **I originally started this story going through some mental health stuff that had me feeling a certain way (hint, not good), and I've been reluctant to continue. However, I do want to finish writing it, even if it's going to go a different route to what I initially planned.**

 **It won't be all sunshines and rainbows, but I don't think it'll get sad enough to even warrant an** angst **tag.**

 **It also probably won't be updated at the speed that Hazards and Modern Romance were, and I'll very likely only work on it in January.**

 **As of 6/12/2018 the proceeding chapters will be deleted and re-uploaded once I've edited them. If you'd like to keep track of the fic outside of ffn, including any other content related to this fic, find me at my writing-tumblr** _everything-withered_


	2. Chapter 2

All we know

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Ichigo could feel people's stares as he brushed through the throng of high school students finally heading home for the day.

Absently, he waves off Keigo's exclamations about _where did you go, Ichigoo?_ And was gratified when Chad drags him easily away, a solemn nod exchanged just as Ichigo turned down the street, coming to stand by Tatuki at a crossing.

She blinks up at him in apparent surprise, Inoue at her other side staring at him in shock.

"Didn't see you in class," she finally settles on.

He shrugs, and though she'd continued to look at him in assessment, she huffed out a sigh before deciding to say, "We've got an English paper due on Friday."

"Thanks."

Inoue doesn't stop staring, and he can feel her heavy gaze as he continues down the opposite road.

In the reflections he caught of himself, he doesn't look physically different. Granted, he did drip up and down the train station, and dried in patches – skin sticky with an uncomfortable combination of sweat and dew. He wasn't overly concerned about it though, even as Yuzu exclaimed about how he'd get sick and, _"Ichi-nii, haven't you heard of an umbrella?"_

His little sister had stopped short of the lecture though, eyes suddenly wide.

At the abrupt end of her rant, Karin leaned back in her seat to peer around the corner at them – the back legs of her chair tilting precariously as she did so, her gaze narrowed with curious suspicion. _"Why are you smiling?"_

He huffs, shaking his head. Patting Yuzu on the head in apology for the puddle he'd left in the doorway, he gently nudged Karin's chair back until she was safely sitting again before patting her head too and trudging up the stairs.

His departure garnered a stunned sort of silence, and dinner that night followed in the same vein. Even his father was casting him surreptitious glances.

As he washed the dishes, Karin hissed, _"I give up, what's wrong with him?"_

Their dad guessed, " _Maybe he got laid? Ack, Karin!"_

" _Shut up, you old pervert, this is serious!"_

" _Ano,"_ Yuzu murmured, _"Ichi-nii seems happy, does it matter why?"_

Karin's reply was muffled by the rush of water from the tap, and Ichigo was suddenly grateful for it, a heaviness returning in increments as he listened to their indistinguishable conversation.

He'd always been quiet, grumpy if his family were to be believed. But he has friends, he talks shit, he laughs. He goes out, he does well in class, he helps out at home. He has favorite books and movies and music. He has plans to get a car with the part-time job he got at Urahara's, has a vague aspiration to go to college in Tokyo, has a fleeting desire to go overseas and see the sun rise and set on the other side of the world.

He isn't miserable, isn't unhappy.

But.

But.

 _Does it matter why?_

The world suddenly feels fragile, and for three months, that fragility dug into his skin like sand he couldn't quite brush off, an annoying reminder that something is different – something has changed.

It's neither entirely good nor entirely bad.

His temper fluctuates from nearly pleasant to outright awful, his patience frays at the edges before weaving into something stronger, more stable. It makes him feel like he's too big for his skin, simultaneously too much and not enough, and if it makes him more alert, more present as if to ensure he doesn't miss whatever the culmination is, no one else makes mention of it, and if they do, they don't say so around him.

(Though he's heard whispered conversations between his sisters, _"He went to see Mom that day, maybe…?"_ and he thinks back to that day, goes over it in his head, turns it over in his mind, and wonders.)

It isn't until he sees her that he settles, like something inside him sighs, _oh_.

With her arms around her legs, her chin resting on her knees, she looks peaceful, but also strangely – weirdly – unhappy, as if he would know what that looked like on another person. He shakes his head, ignoring his suddenly pounding heart, and calls out, "Yo."

Startled, she straightens, seeming to return to wherever she disappeared from, and blinks blue eyes at him, the spark of recognition curling her lip into a reluctant smile before she murmurs slowly, "Hey…"

Ichigo wonders if she felt it too.

Arms settling at his sides, messenger bag hanging from one hand, he tilts his head slightly to look up at her from her perch atop the hill overlooking the sidewalk. "What're you doing up there?"

She exhales, long and drawn out, like a breath she'd been holding for too long. "Just thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself."

She shoots him an unimpressed look.

He snickers. "What's with the get-up?" He prods, cocking a smirk. "Did you run away to join the military? Couldn't cut it as a hobo?"

"For your information, it's my school uniform," she declares with a huff, and it dawns on him then that he recognizes the insignia on her shapeless blue coat, the only private school in Karakura. He isn't surprised considering what he remembers of her manners in the coffee shop so many weeks before, the car that had waited for her, the _driver_ she had.

Though the near jaunty tilt of her dark blue beret invites him to tease, "Ah, so you did." When she throws her hat off at him, he smirks. "Was this before or after they made concessions to you being vertically impaired?"

"Says the walking traffic cone," she retorts easily, the swipes they take at each familiar despite only having spoken to each other once weeks ago. Odder still, how he can identify the way she wilts ever so slightly when he asks, "So, what are you doing, really?"

"What do you mean?"

His stuck his hands into his pockets, the strap of his bag digging into his wrist. "Exactly that."

She pauses for a moment, before, "Are you asking because you care, or asking because you're interested?"

"I can't be both?"

"What do you get out of it?" she asks, looking strangely guarded all of a sudden, and it makes him frown.

"Is there something I can get out of it?" When she doesn't answer immediately, his brow furrows deeper. "If I wasn't worried about you before, I really am now."

There's uncertainty in her expression that colors her words, "You're…worried? About me?"

He rolls his eyes. "Despite contrary belief, I can do more than scowl at people."

That pulls a smile from her, reluctant and unwilling as ever, even as she demands, "You have to promise not to laugh at me."

"I'm sure you're not that funny."

"Dick," she huffs, and even as he smirks at her, she rolls her eyes and nudges her chin. "Well, what are you waiting for? Get up here."

He manages to climb up beside her, though he's a lot more winded then he'll admit. The incline was a lot more brutal than it looked, but he was already too far up by the time he remembered there were stairs just down the path.

Still, he catches his breath discretely, even as she snorts her amusement under her breath.

For a while neither of them say anything as they sit side by side, the stream tranquil in its stillness as the sun bounces off the surface of the water some distance ahead of them.

"I hate school," she finally says, and when she has nothing further to add, he shrugs.

"Everyone hates school."

She sighs. "Byakuya-sama has been incredibly kind, and pulled a dozen strings to get me in, and I…I don't belong there."

"You don't have to stay there, you know that, right? If he put in the work to get you in, he can put the effort to drag you out."

"I'm aware of what he's capable of," she says with a frown, "but he's done so much for me already."

Ichigo's brows furrow. "He's your brother."

"Not in so many ways…" His silence conveys his confusion, and she sighs once more. "My sister met him at a charity ball for cancer awareness. She wasn't even in remission, she was actively sick. Had to carry around an oxygen tank and everything. The only reason they got married six months later was because it was just me and Hisana, she didn't want to risk me having to go through the system again. Byakuya-sama wasn't enough of a jackass to say no."

A breeze ruffles their hair, rippling the water too until the air settles again.

"It was thanks to Byakuya-sama that Hisana even lasted as long as she did, and thanks to him, I didn't get lumped with the medical bills; I have my own room, I get driven everywhere, I get to go to school, I don't have to worry about eating, I…I have everything." A hysterical giggle bubbles from her lips. "And I'm upset that I don't belong in one of the best private schools in the country because I've got charity case written all over me." She swallows the giggles until she's hiccupping, and Ichigo has the terrifying realization that she's crying.

He brushes his shoulder against hers. "Hey…"

Rubbing furiously at her eyes, stray tears splashing against his skin. "Not like it really makes a difference, Byakuya-sama's family weren't exactly pleased with his decision to marry Hisana in the first place, being responsible for me is already asking too much."

"Is it really asking though to want to be happy?"

"Maybe…maybe that's the point."

"Hisana wouldn't have wanted you to feel like this."

"It's wrong, though, isn't it," she asks, quietly imploring, "to want to be happy even though she's gone? I know it's what she would want but…"

"There's nothing that says you can't be both…that's…that's what grieving is."

Noticeably she swallows, turning her gaze back to the horizon. "Does it…does it get better?"

He exhales. "Some days…some days are better than others. But…" The sun sets in the distance with the sky bruising in shades of purple and blue to match her eyes when they met his, and he smiles quietly. "But the days do get better. I promise."

* * *

 **everything-withered dot** tumblr **dot com**


	3. Chapter 3

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All we know

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Days pass as days tend to do, more often than not, without Ichigo's notice. One day it's Monday, the next it's Wednesday and then he's getting up at six in the morning on a Saturday because his internal alarm doesn't know any better than him.

He knows what day it is, at least. He takes the victory where he can.

Ichigo goes through with his usual routine, hearing Karin's snores from her room confirms the day of the week, and he changes into a comfortable shirt and jeans instead of his school uniform before climbing downstairs closer to nine than seven.

In the dining room, his dad is reading the paper, coffee cup posed for a sip though it hangs suspended in his hand as if he'd forgotten about it. The clinic doesn't open until slightly later on the weekends.

Yuzu's in the kitchen. She usually sleeps in on Saturdays, he pauses to wonder why she's up, and then he smells it. There are brownies baking.

She's puttering about with the radio on, in no rush, and flashes a smile at him in greeting.

"Just felt like doing something different," she explains, forcing a brownie square on him and demanding to know if it came out okay.

Ichigo accepts it, confirms it edible to her indignant squawk, and then goes back upstairs.

He reads. He goes for a run with Tatsuki and Chad. Sometimes on their run, he'll spot Karin and her friends, and they'll drag the three of them into a game of soccer. He plays video games. He takes a nap. Sometimes he'll go to the arcade with Keigo. He listens to music. Sometimes he'll go with Yuzu to the market and give Uryuu shit about the cosplay outfits he makes at the hobby shop.

The monotony of school days passes in a similar blur, yet it passes, and that's all he can ask for really.

Life happens to him and he lets it.

It probably isn't healthy, running on autopilot and muscle memory the way he does, but its functional. No one's concerned. No one's complaining. It's fine. Everything is fine.

"Hey you!"

He blinks, and it's like being tuned back in. The pressure in his ears pop like the frequency of his brain was just all wrong and now it's the way it should be, and suddenly he's _aware_.

It's one of those lame gangs, three guys just causing trouble and looking for something fun to do – something to keep busy with.

It's annoying to deal with them, but Ichigo can understand the need for distraction.

Not everyone's alright with playing at living.

He huffs out an annoyed breath. Whatever wastes a couple of minutes, he supposes.

Fighting is as automatic as any of Ichigo's other routines. It should say something about him that it's gotten that far, but if he had any actual concerns he'd have dyed his hair a more normal colour long ago. As it is, he brushes off the dust that's accumulated on his uniform, hikes his messenger bag up on his arm and continues on his way.

He passes the stream, sees no one there just like every other day, and keeps on walking.

The front door creaks as he shuts it, swops his outside shoes with his inside ones, and though his dad opens his mouth to yell at him, he reconsiders as he eyes the bruise on Ichigo's jaw, and decides against saying anything at all. At dinner, the girls don't say anything either.

Ichigo tells himself it's fine.

Everything is fine.

Other days pass with significance, like they're important, even if only one thing has changed.

Like a sunset he actually took the time to notice, a picture Keigo had taken of their group during lunch that Ichigo had actually liked, finding money in his trouser pockets, Urahara feeling bad about sending Ichigo on an errand right before the shop was supposed to close and paying him extra.

It's not always good things.

Sometimes it's discovering a leak in the hallway, getting a grade he hadn't anticipated, finding gum stuck to his shoe, having no more hot water to shower with, finding pickles in his food.

Like the day he has to take the bus.

He's late, and he's irritable. Public transport is as crowded as to be expected. If he remembers it for that alone, he wouldn't be surprised.

But standing a few feet in front of him, there she was.

She wasn't looking his way, her back turned to him, the strap of a pink messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Though the navy-blue hat and its matching uniform coat are familiar, it might not even be her.

His stop comes up before hers does, and he gets off without ever confirming it.

That day sticks out like others have, until it's awash in those that blur so seamlessly together.

Until the next, and the next, and the next, until the day Karin insists he take her to a bookstore across town after school.

Her favourite series has released a new manga, and she knows a guy who knows a guy that's got a copy saved for her despite being apparently "out of stock" everywhere else.

"That sounds vaguely illegal," he informs his sister dryly.

"Ne Ichi-nii, don't say things you want confirmed."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm only agreeing to go with you so they don't kidnap you."

"Please, like you have any plans anyway," she retorts, "besides it's on the "good side" of town."

"No one cares which side of town you're in when you've got perfectly good organs to harvest."

Karin sighs dramatically. "You're so depressing Ichi-nii."

The store is packed shoulder to shoulder with shelves, dusty with editions that have clearly seen better days, certainly not the kind of place you'd think to find a new or latest anything. But Karin's already disappeared inside to find the guy that can get her the copy of the manga she wants.

So, Ichigo busies himself with exploring, feeling his breath move in his chest as he finds things of vague interest, sparking and jolting him to remember he was awake. As if those ambiguously stimulating things were matches setting off little fireworks at the loose threads of his existence.

In the maze of shelves, squirreled away in a corner, perched on an overstuffed chair. Her lips move silently as she mouths the words to herself, tasting their myriad of meanings on her tongue.

Her smile is tentative even as her brow arches. "Are you following me?"

"I could ask you the same," he returns, leaning more comfortably against the shelf at the mouth of her little nook.

The skin between her brows crinkle. "The hell happened to your face?"

Ichigo didn't notice when she'd gotten up or when she'd walked towards him, but he remembers her hands – pale and warm, a perfume of dust and jasmine clinging to the stale air around him as she touch-touch-touches. "I'm okay," he remembers to say, soft and quiet, and _sorry._

"That's not what I asked." She's tilting his face, furrows in her brow and a frown tugging unhappily at her mouth.

When he doesn't reply, she glares at him and he swallows against the sickening churn in his stomach – _disappointed, angry, guilty –_ "Got in a fight," is the defensive growl he answers with, something he's realized in the past as being enough to get his family's concern off his back, to get Tatsuki to leave him alone –

But she's hardly moved, and inside, Ichigo's still snarling half hoping for an argument, half hoping to scare her away. He knows the steps to this, coiled tight and ready to spit venom, and he knows it's destructive, it's awful, it isn't right he doesn't mean to be a dick, he doesn't mean to push people away –

"What's wrong?"

Everything about her has softened, quiet and _sorry_ and drawn, and that's what sets him back, that's what makes him flinch.

She doesn't go after him when he takes a half step back, only peers at him with blue blue eyes, and suddenly he feels flayed open all over again. Like the weeks following their first meeting. Like the weeks following their last. _How are you doing this?_ He wants to ask, but what comes out instead is the question, "How do you know something is wrong?"

Her shrug is small, barely a lift of her shoulders as if she's consciously trying not to scare him off with any sudden movements. "We all have our bad days."

"Sometimes," he decides to say, "this feels like the longest bad day of my life."

"Until you meet your next one?"

"Yeah…I guess."

"Then," she muses, "doesn't that mean you had a good day in between? How do you tell them apart?"

He picks at dry lips and replies, "I don't."

"Then how do you know your day's been bad or good? How do you make them good?"

"I don't…I don't know."

She hums, and from outside, a car hoots. A glance confirms something to her, and she nods to herself before pressing the book she'd been reading against his chest. "Then try."

Ichigo watches her leave baffled, and when he looks down at the book, he finds a battered English copy of Slaughterhouse Five.

She'd stuck a bookmark in, one of those school ones with her school ID photo on one end and her name beneath it: _Kuchiki Rukia_ , he reads it and re-reads it until he's satisfied and a highlighted line on the page next to it catches his eye.

It reads simply, _"How nice to feel nothing, and still get full credit for being alive."_


	4. Chapter 4

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All we know

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Karin is quiet on the way back from the bookstore, which is just as well.

He's angrier than he can put into words.

He doesn't know where she gets off telling him to _try_ , like he hasn't, like he's ever stopped. _Rukia_ doesn't know anything about him. Hell, he didn't even know her name until now. She probably doesn't even know his.

She doesn't know.

His palm stings with the press of blunt nails as he curls his fingers.

But she also does.

Ichigo lost his mother at nine.

She lost her sister _nine months ago._

If anyone would know how he feels – even if it wasn't his exact emotions – it would be her. She would know because she's been through it – because it's fresher – because she's allowed to.

 _"There's no expiry date for emotions."_ Ichigo shakes his head. _Where does he get off being angry at her in the first place? What? Just because he's…jealous that she seems so well adjusted?_

He scowls at nothing, the compulsion to rage and push and fight draining out of him; making his fingers numb, making his fists unfurl.

 _Her sister died; her only family, and she's alone, and I-I'm not._

Beside him, Karin glares ahead, a huff – an exhale – a sigh.

Karin and Yuzu were only five when it happened; they don't remember Mom much, if they do at all. They only know what she looks like because of that blown-up picture in the dining room. They only know what she was like because of Dad's stories except – except Dad doesn't talk about her, not really – and Ichigo doesn't – can't – _won't._

He chooses not to.

Because he doesn't want to.

Because he doesn't try.

And it isn't fair because they deserve to know her too – because they never got to.

Because Mom may resemble Yuzu the most, between the three of them, but she and Karin?

They furrow their brows the same, that little crinkle at her forehead and at her nose like there's a bad smell; Mom used to get it when she thought too hard – Dad would tease her about it – it would give her headaches. It probably does the same for Karin.

He doesn't know. He's never asked.

 _Because you've never tried,_ he hears Rukia teasingly mock, and he huffs out a breath. _Fine._

"Oi, what's with the face?"

She turns her head – first there's surprise and then there's a glare. "What face?"

Ichigo points at his nose in demonstration. "Your nose trying to crawl off it or something?"

If he weren't really looking – wasn't really paying attention – he wouldn't have noticed how her eyes widen a fraction, how her entire expression seems to freeze, and then she's looking away, snorting, to hide it – to pretend it never happened.

He's never really thought much about how similar they are.

Everyone – their mom included – had always said so.

 _Karin has your grumpy face._

Ichigo's always just seen her as someone separate from him, but also just _there,_ like a watch he finds himself automatically strapping onto his wrist every morning, like their elderly neighbor who squints at him suspiciously whenever he jams his key into the lock to get home. His younger sister. Someone to protect and take care of because she was his sister. Was it strange that it never made her a real person in her own right, in his eyes? Someone who was just like him; who dealt with things in a way similar to him, who hurt the same, but differently; who lost their mother too, regardless?

"You're the one with the face," she says, looking at him from the corner of her eye. "You've been angry since we left."

She doesn't ask why, and he doesn't know if he's grateful for it because she might not be asking because she doesn't know how, or because he hasn't let her before, or maybe because she's scared to.

He wants to scowl again at the thought, feels his face itch with the strain of his muscles to avoid it. Ichigo's always been told that his grumpy face can go into murder territory as easily as breathing, and if she's scared of him - if it's his fault -

In the end, he has to look away.

"I was," he admits, and if she's surprised by his admission, she doesn't say anything to that either. They stop at a cross walk. "I was talking to someone," he offers.

Eventually, Karin speaks again, more tentative than he thought her capable of, "That girl?" as if she's worried he'll clam up, as if worried her curiosity isn't acceptable and that he'll get angry again.

How hard has he pushed his own family away?

"Yeah."

He didn't mean to.

At least not like this.

He just - didn't want to hurt them with his own hurt. It wouldn't have been fair. But this. This - this isn't either.

Ichigo doesn't hold her hand like when they were younger when they do cross the road, though he does make sure he's on the side where the cars cross over rather than the cars that sit idle, waiting for the light to change.

That she doesn't protest or think anything of it, is a relief; that she knows, instinctively that he's always going to be there to protect her, to stand in the way of the car this time -

If only that didn't make her afraid of him too.

"I met her when I visiting Mom."

"Is that why you've been weird lately?" And at that, there's a slight tightness in her eyes, like she didn't mean to blurt it out even though that's entirely too typical of her; always too quick to say whatever's on her mind, no finesse, no tact.

That's his sister, that's the Karin he knows.

"Yeah," his mouth feels weird – like he's – is he smiling?

The passing shop window says yes, and he looks away abruptly, embarrassed for himself. It's too late though, Karin sees, and her own smile tugs at her mouth. She's slower to speak again, though the tightness around her eyes is gone. "Who was she vising, at the cemetery?"

"Not visiting," he answers, "saying goodbye."

"Oh."

She bows her head, speaks to her shoes. "Who?"

When they finally reach the house, he replies, "Her sister." Karin looks up then, biting her lip from asking, though her brows furrowed again and he reaches over to smooth it out. He used to do it to her when they were younger - he used to do it to Mom. Karin lets him – too startled otherwise. "Her sister was all she had left," he continues, "and I thought we were the same, me and her, but we're not. Because I have you, and Yuzu, and Dad."

 _I'm sorry I stopped trying_ , he doesn't say. _I'm sorry I forgot - I'm sorry I'm so angry - I'm...I'm sorry._

Karin is slow to follow him inside, but he hears her quiet, "Yeah…" trail after him, close like a shadow, cool like a fresh rain.

He squeezes Yuzu's shoulder in return as she comes to greet them, and if she's bemused, she doesn't say, only smiles like his good mood makes hers better. You don't just look like Mom, he thinks, you've got her heart too, he'll tell her one day.

Dad comes running like the lunatic he is – with yells of _"my children!" –_ accompanied by his attempt at a tackle, Ichigo easily sidesteps, letting him go straight for Karin, who – for one reason or another – accepts his bear hug of an embrace.

She needs it, he thinks, he doesn't think she's let anyone touch her much since...well, since Mom.

"I'm going upstairs, yell if you need anything," he tells them over his shoulder.

Before he shuts the door, Dad asks in a loud whisper, "What's with him?"

Usually it would be Yuzu who would tsk, say it's rude for them to think something has to be wrong for Ichigo to be different, but its Karin who answers, "Don't worry old man, he's going to be just fine."

The moon drenches his bed, and the desk next to it, in starlight. He doesn't bother to turn the lights on.

He looks at the cover of the book Rukia had given him under silver light and obscured by shadow, opens it to the page marked with her bookmark and her picture, and thinks that he's never seen her smile. After everything she's been through, this year alone, Ichigo doesn't imagine she has much to smile about. And then he'd just - he let her go - and he was angry at her and she doesn't deserve that - _I'm_ _sorry too, Rukia. I didn't mean to be ungrateful or to forget how good I have it, I didn't - I'm sorry._

Aloud, he tells her with a huff that's both annoyed and grudgingly affectionate, "I'm trying. _I'll try_."


	5. Chapter 5

**Cw for suicidal thoughts and raging apathy.**

.

All we know

.

"Oi, Ichigo, what's that?"

The pen between his lips bob when he adjusts it in his mouth, and he raises a brow at Keigo who's leaning over his desk.

"You tryna tell me you've never seen a book before?"

He pouts. "That's not what I mean is that – is it English – wha? Ichigo, you can't be reading it for fun! I can't be seen hanging out with such a – such a nerd!"

On the desk beside Ichigo, Uryuu adjusts his glasses – sunlight reflecting ominously – "And what's wrong with being a nerd?"

Keigo sweats, but is flailing around wildly enough to distract from it. "You're reading English, Ichigo, and it isn't a school required book! What's happening? What's going on? Are you going through something?"

He huffs out a laugh, swiping the pen from one corner of his mouth to another, and doesn't reply.

Keigo's tirade lasts a few minutes more, extending into the last moments of break where people are filing back into the classroom when he suddenly concludes, "It's for a girl! I knew it! Oh, Ichigo, you had me so worried!"

"What are you talking about," he testily replies, less of a question and more of a threat. Keigo doesn't know the difference.

"The girl – the girl on the bookmark!" When he makes a grab for it to show it off, Ichigo has his arm twisted in one hand and Slaughterhouse Five in another, thumb jammed into the spine to keep his page, and the bookmark, in place.

"Kyaaa, Ichigo!"

"Say nothing," he tells his friend with a scary amount of calm, "she's off limits."

"Uncle, uncle!" he squeals in an attempt to yield, and Ichigo only lets go when their teacher comes in, calling for everyone to put their things away and prepare for the next lesson.

Ichigo returns to his seat as if nothing happened though Keigo's crying dramatically, slumped over his desk.

Uryuu sighs noticeably like he's greatly aggrieved, and Ichigo catches Chad smirk.

If anyone is curious about what happened, there's nothing but nondescript whispers, and though Tatsuki is giving him an interested look that says _we'll talk about this later_ , Ichigo pretends to be fully dedicated to the task of what looks like mathematics.

He gives Rukia's picture a final look before sliding the bookmark back into place and setting the book aside on his desk.

Ever since she'd given it to him a few weeks ago, he's taken to carrying it everywhere.

That he hasn't fully mastered English yet had been his excuse – it would take a while for him to get through the novel – but it's more as a reminder – _try, you said you would._

And it works.

Not always, it's not some magic cure or a flip of a switch.

There are still bad days. There has to be.

There are still times when Ichigo doesn't remember what day it is, where everything just blurs together; fading hour by hour, day by day until he jolts back – living, breathing – and tries again. He tries not to get angry that it does – that he forgets – can't erase the memory of Karin second guessing herself around him or how Yuzu's concern makes her eyes glassy with a helplessness she doesn't deserve to feel or how Dad sometimes goes quiet watching him from the corner of his eye.

Ichigo's trying. He is.

And no matter how many times he stumbles and fails and sucks at it, he keeps going because…what's the alternative?

On a particularly bad day, it's – it's not something he really wants to put into words.

He can't explain what's wrong only that he can't – _feel_ – anything. Like he's watching himself go through the motions; like he's just an outsider in his own life, and then – then a terrible thought creeps in – maybe he is – maybe none of this is real.

When you can't feel anything maybe – _maybe you aren't really alive._

It's a thought he brushes off as ridiculous when it first lands, but like a seed that's been planted, it makes itself at home in the dirt of his mind, starts spreading roots, starts _digging in._

He brushes it off and brushes it off and brushes it off. _It's nothing serious, it's not that bad._

He's had worse things to occupy his mind, worst impulses to stamp out.

It's fine. Everything is fine.

He smiles at his sisters, he indulges his dad in some rough housing; he goes to school, gets on the Honour Roll and watches Chad's first performance at a local coffee shop, he claps and whistles and smirks when Keigo enthusiastically congratulates Chad on his _chick-magnet_ hobby and proposes they start a band and –

Everything is…fine.

Everything is fine.

It's a mantra he tells himself over and over a strange rush of adrenaline that threatens to engulf him, like water rising and rising until he's neck deep and floundering, and drowning and – no matter how fast he runs, how hard he hits, how deeply he tries to bury it – it still comes – it still tugs and pulls and chokes until –

He's lying in bed and he can't – he can't move.

The adrenaline hasn't abated, only continued to ebb and flow in his veins, prompting and teasing, whispering in his ear with every _thud-thud-thud_ of his heart, _Whatcha gonna do? Whatcha gonna do?_

 _I don't know,_ he wants to shout back, _I don't know_ , he whispers instead, _I don't – I don't want to know._

So he doesn't get out of bed that day.

No one comes to check on him beyond leaving him a tray of food outside his door. Exam season is starting soon, they're probably giving him space; maybe they think he's studying or giving himself a break or in need of a lie-in and a ditch-day from being a person, and Ichigo thinks about how ironic that is considering he doesn't feel like one – hasn't felt like one for a few days (weeks?) – has only been pretending to be one and – _No, that's not true._

 _If I do something_ , he tries to reason through the calm-like panic that fills him, _it'll hurt. It will._

And he ignores the taunt of, _Will it, really?_

He watches the shadows lengthen and swallow up the light as a storm begins to brew outside his window.

Flashes of lightning wink through his blinds; the thunder rolls with ominous intention and the wind howls in kind. It's angrier than the day his mom died, is the thought that settles, it was raining quietly, softly, apologetically. Over the sirens and the crowd and the water falling in heavy plops on the sidewalk, the rain – the rain sounded almost peaceful.

It would make sense, is the absent thought that follows, that the rain he would die in would be as angry as he's been.

His eyes sting.

God, he hates the rain.

He – he doesn't want to die, and before his treacherous mind can ask how he possibly could when he's just lying in his bed, Ichigo's mind races to say, _You'll miss so many things if you do._

 _Like what?_

 _You won't get that car you wanted, you didn't spend all those nice summer days working for Urahara for nothing did you? And what about graduating? Are you telling me you pulled all-nighters for nothing? Someone has to talk Keigo out of ruining Chad's chances of getting famous! You promised Tatsuki you'd watch her at the Olympics one day, you promised! And Yuzu and Karin are in the high school now, who's gonna make sure those loser gangs don't bother them, huh? And – and if you do – if you die, how are you gonna look Mom in the eye, huh? Making Dad and the girls go through that again? How could you do that?_

His tears are salty and too warm against his cheeks. In the quiet of the room, he sniffs.

 _And Rukia? You gonna leave her too?_

 _She's not –_

 _Maybe not, but you ever think about how she'd never know if you did? How maybe, a few weeks or months or years from now when she's visiting Hisana, she stops by Mom's grave like she did that day, and sees your gravestone beside hers? How do you think that's going to make her feel?_

Like shit, he decides, he'd make so many people feel like shit.

Yuzu's helplessness would peak; she'd think it was her fault somehow, and Karin – Karin will think it's because she did something so thoughtless that he – And Dad, God, he'd break his dad's heart knowing he couldn't protect his wife and his son – And Rukia – he wouldn't know what Rukia would think.

But knowing the little he does about her – he thinks – he thinks she'd stare at his tombstone in sullen silence, tears lost to the rain and call him a fool while thinking the same of herself. _You shouldn't have let him in, you shouldn't have cared, look where it's gotten you._

And Ichigo can't imagine a future where Yuzu's perpetually hopeless, where Karin's withdrawn, where his father can't even fake his smiles anymore, where Rukia _doesn't care_.

He feels guilty for doing that to them.

But.

The storm rumbles in agitation.

Maybe he's wrong. Maybe they'll be just fine. He hopes they would be if something – if anything – were to happen.

But he can't – he can't take that chance. He can't do that to them if he can help it.

When Ichigo finally rouses himself out of the strange trance he's been in, it feels like cold water's been upended on him. It's freezing. His body would feel numb if weren't so cold, he practically itches from it.

But he's glad, almost hysterical in the laughter that bubbles against his lips.

Cold is good. Cold is better than nothing. Anything is better than nothing.

The moon grins its agreement through the window.


	6. Chapter 6

.

All we know

.

Ichigo tries to keep his head above water for a few days after that. A little of it is because he's afraid he'll slip right back down again, get pulled under, _drown_. But a lot of it is because he'd forgotten how terrifying the experience was, period.

It isn't the first time it's happened to him, and probably won't be the last, he thinks warily, but he's out of the woods for now and that's-that's good.

Still, he's openly cagey and fidgety after, and if he lingers a little longer around his family and friends, well, that's his business.

Yuzu, for one, looks delighted that he's willing to be dragged along to the hobby shop, her group of friends giggling amongst themselves as he plays personal bodyguard.

He tries not to loom, but they don't seem to mind.

With the furtive glances they send him, the blushes and giggles, Ichigo is surprised Yuzu hasn't gotten rid of him herself, even as he squishes the embarrassed flush threatening to set his face on fire.

The group of girls practically scatter once inside before congregating at the back, crowding around Uryuu who seems to be the resident king of the castle. Backed by his sewing machine, a cornucopia of fabrics and his legion of completed plush toys, Uryuu doesn't do anything to acknowledge him besides adjust his glasses before his attention is stolen by the legion of teenage girls, and then he's oscillating between benevolent ruler and awkward seventeen year old.

Ichigo smothers his smirk.

Just coming around the corner, a basket of yarn and assorted crafts in hand, Ichigo catches Inoue's eye and nods, dismissing how her face immediately flushes and how she almost drops her basket altogether.

Taking up a post in the corner of the room, out of everyone's way, but still with Yuzu in his line of sight, Ichigo settles in for what will probably be an hour – at the least.

Yuzu's always had a thing for this kind of stuff, and besides seeing her happily cooking and baking in the kitchen, he doesn't think he's ever seen her be as luminous in her excitement in ever. Over her shoulder, one of Uryuu's custom made Chappy creations in hand, his little sister smiles at him, and Ichigo thinks that he gets it; how she can be happy so long as the people she loves are happy because he thinks he is – or that he could be.

It's only been a few days since – but – a lot can change in a few days.

Something falls in an aisle nearby, and he hears a curse said in English before he's moving, standing at the mouth and staring.

She's just as surprised to see him as he is to see her, but she – she looks awful.

Using the shelf for support, she looks like a cough from the other side of the room could knock her over. The bags under her eyes are like bruises, and she's pale, practically paper white, engulfed in a sweater that looks like it should fit her but is still too loose somehow. Her hands are shaking.

"Rukia -" For a second, he thinks that she'll run, but her hold on the shelf is tenuous at best, and he has his arms out to support her before either of them have even registered that he's moved. "Rukia."

"Fancy seeing you here," she exhales, and she doesn't mean it, the way she breathes it out against his ear, especially when she's still so clearly rattled, her voice reedy. He tightens his arms around her.

"Rukia -"

"Kuchiki-san, are you alright?" From the other end of the aisle, Uryuu has abandoned his court and is looking at them with an unreadable expression, the girls, Yuzu included, stand around him wearing looks of confusion. "Ichi-nii?"

"Un," Rukia mutters, more against his skin than anything else. "I'm fine, Ishida-san, I…slipped."

"I got her," Ichigo finds himself saying.

"I can walk," she protests.

"Well, you're doing a bang-up job," he retorts and she's huffing and indignant and saying something else in English too, but following his lead without much struggle.

Wordlessly, the girls part for them to pass.

Uryuu gestures for Ichigo to follow, Rukia in tow, before they're moving to what looks to be an office off to the side. There's a desk squished up against the wall, a small fridge, and two chairs, and while Ichigo helps Rukia to sit on the one closest to the desk, Uryuu grabs a water bottle from the fridge and a pack of crackers from the desk drawer.

Rukia eyes the crackers suspiciously before Uryuu settles on leaving them on the desk at her elbow. She fiddles with the water bottle but doesn't open it to drink. Her hands are still shaking.

Ichigo's on his haunches, checking her left ankle and then her right, and frowning. "It doesn't look like you got hurt." At least not enough to not be able to walk, to not shake the way she's shaking...

From the corner, Uryuu is staring – though not at Ichigo – and Rukia shifts. "I didn't, I just slipped."

At that, Uryuu snorts.

"Can we help you?" Ichigo says over his shoulder, and Uryuu makes a face, again, not at Ichigo but at Rukia.

What the hell.

"Eat," is all he says in lieu of an explanation, and the same unreadable look he sends to Ichigo before he's leaving the two alone, opening the door to reveal the curious faces beyond all trying to listen in before they're shooed away by a sweep of Uryuu's hand.

"Rukia, what's -"

"What are you doing here?" she says instead, and her voice is weird; her eyes are shuttered and her expression is carefully blank and he – he knows that tactic.

He doesn't get up from before her, choosing to stay as close as he can, as close as he's allowed. "Yuzu," he says by way of explanation, "she wanted to get some stuff for some plush she wants to make." Rukia doesn't reply, but her gaze flickers, her mask shifting. "Chappy, can you believe it?" he offers with a slight smirk.

She huffs, and it sounds like a laugh, though a poor imitation of one. He tries not to wince, tries to subtly clear his throat from how raw it suddenly feels, how raw Rukia herself sounds.

Everything about her feels exposed, and she's acting like she is.

Her hair falls like a curtain over her face whenever she can't bring herself to look at him, her gaze moving almost frantically like she's looking for an exit.

Freeze. Flight. Fight.

He knows what she's doing.

"Are you okay?" _What can I do?_

"I'm fine." She's finally stopped her quick glances around the room, and she's looking at him but seeing through him, and her hands are still –

"You wanna try that again?"

She glares, and _he knows._

"Rukia."

"I'm fine. I…I am." Still, he's doubtful, openly so, and she continues haltingly in something that's half a sigh and a muffled sob, "Better than…better than usual. That's why I'm here. I…I wanted Chappy stuff too."

"Had to come all the way to this side of town?" he can't help but ask even though he doesn't care – is grateful actually that she did because he hasn't seen her in –

"Uryuu's father treated Hisana-nee when she was still…" She swallows, and it's hard to watch, to see her at the stage when she's accepted, however unwillingly that Hisana is - Finally, she opens the water bottle and drinks in loud gulps, some water running down her chin, though she doesn't seem to care much. She twists the cap, fingers tightening around the neck when she's done before she sets the bottle aside. "It was a good day. It was until -" Rukia settles on him, and he feigns offense despite how rubbed raw he feels at the way she's looking at him – _like she's scared._

"You're hurting my feelings," he says in a way he doesn't mean even though he does.

She bows her head, dark hair shadowing blue eyes. "I didn't eat today that's why I…I got lightheaded, that's all."

"When was the last time you ate?"

She opens her mouth to lie to him, but stops entirely when he wraps his hand around her wrist, measuring. Small, but not – it's worrying, he thinks, he's seen people at the clinic sometimes and Rukia isn't – it's not that bad –

"It's early, that's what…that's what Ishida-san said."

 _It's not that bad,_ he hears, and it's mocking, even in his own head.

Didn't he tell himself the same thing?

"How long?"

"Since I last ate or..."

He closes his eyes, pauses, breathes. "The first one." He can't - he doesn't know what he'll do if he hears about the second.

She licks her lips. "A day, maybe…maybe two?"

"Rukia…"

She bows her head even more, practically curling into herself, fists tight and set atop her knees. "I told you…school is…I hate it, and it's ridiculous and stupid that I couldn't even -"

"Stop, stop it." He tells her, wrapping his hands around hers, trying to ease the tension out, trying to bring some warmth back because – _God, she's cold._

"Rukia."

"It wasn't my intention not to eat...I was just…I was so busy trying to…to just _do it_. You know? Trying to catch up with school and actually trying to excel at it, and not embarrass the Kuchiki name further than I did by just getting adopted and I…I just…I couldn't eat." _I didn't feel like I deserved to,_ is what her eyes say, and his hands tighten around hers.

She wasn't - it was never meant to be Rukia - he hadn't even...The thought had never occurred that she could - He was never supposed to lose Rukia. He never even had her to begin with but – what if it gets too far? What if she goes too far? He can't – he can't just let her –

And it would be so easy to devolve; to fall apart; to get angry that she'd do this to herself even unintentionally – even though she'd been the one to tell him – even though she was supposed to be the one that had it all together – she always has been even though –

It's not fair.

He exhales.

"Try." When she doesn't say anything, only continues to look at him in baffled silence, he prompts further, "Please?"

"I…" She looks away, and there's a slouch to her shoulders, a teardrop that runs down her cheek that goes ignored because she feels – too tired, too hopeless, too much and too little at once. He wipes it away with a slide of his finger, just barely touching her chin with it as he looks at her intently, hoping he doesn't need to say the words aloud, that she'll just understand the way she always has, _I know what this is. I know where you are. I know._

"I tried for you," he admits in the silence that follows, and he's still looking up at her searchingly, hopefully; tries to smile something encouraging. "I didn't owe it to you, but you're why I tried." When she still says nothing, he looks around for inspiration before adding, "You really think I'd go to a hobby shop with a bunch of teenage girls for the fun of it, huh, Rukia?"

That's when she huffs an unwilling laugh - better, not so bitter, not so broken.

"I'm surrounded by so much plush, Rukia, my reputation will never recover," he adds, almost going off in an uncharacteristic tangent that would get increasingly more panicked the more she stayed silent – the more the thought settled that _she's given up, I'm too late –_

Until she's smiling, watery and weak and says, "I don't even know your name."

His finger trails, sliding from her skin and away before he's smiling lightly. "Ichigo, my name is Ichigo."

She chuckles quietly, catching his finger and holding his pinky in hers in a mock handshake. Her eyes are still shining, but her hands aren't shaking anymore.

"It's nice to meet you, Ichigo."


	7. Chapter 7

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All we know

.

Ichigo should have seen this coming.

In all fairness, he'd been entirely too preoccupied with – well, _Rukia_ – that it hadn't even occurred to him that Yuzu – all of five feet and about as heavy as a medium sized dog – could be _terrifying._

He'd been in the makeshift office at the hobby shop for all of fifteen minutes before Yuzu knocked.

She'd strode right in at Rukia's tentative "come in", and shut the door at the expectant faces of her friends before flashing a bright smile and sparkly eyes and – Ichigo gulps – _uh oh._ Rukia, blissfully ignorant to Yuzu's charms, seems to soften under his sister's aura of earnest innocence while still managing to curl into herself self-consciously.

His hand still wrapped around hers, flexes in a squeeze, trying to convey both _everything is fine_ and _don't make any sudden movements._

At their held hands, Yuzu positively beams, and even Ichigo has a hard time remembering why he's afraid – right until she swoops right in and steals Rukia from under him.

It had taken Ichigo almost a year for them to exchange names, Yuzu does it in under a minute of being in the same room. And somehow, she's managed to convince Rukia to _come to their house for dinner._

Rukia, herself, looks a little dazed, and Ichigo's struggling to pick his jaw up from the floor.

When Rukia's back is turned as she sets aside her abandoned water bottle on the table, Yuzu flashes him a wink and a smile and _no-no-no-no, she gets her scheming from their_ **dad**.

"Yuz -"

"Ne, Rukia-chan," his sister interjects, sweet as can be, "you should take the crackers, dinner'll take at least an hour; don't want you to get too hungry while you wait!"

And if Rukia throws Ichigo an accusing look – like he'd somehow managed to tell someone else about what he'd only found out while being alone in a room with her – he can only stare after his sister in disbelief.

Uryuu looks outright startled when Rukia levels him with the same look, moving onto a likelier candidate for the betrayal of her confidence, and Ichigo does an admirable job of smothering his smirk. That Uryuu realizes what she's implying, and subtly shakes his head that it wasn't him, Rukia shifts her gaze from them to Yuzu and then back to them, considering.

Yuzu waves her friends off with a cheerful chirp despite their pouts, and is leading the charge of the three of them out of the store and down the street.

She fills the silence that settles over them with seamless chatter, asking Rukia after her – what school she goes to, what she was getting at the hobby shop, and oh! I love Chappy too!

Whatever suspicions Rukia seems to have about Yuzu would be non-existent if it weren't for the whispers she shoots Ichigo while Yuzu is distracted, "Your sister is a witch."

And that statement would be insulting if Rukia didn't look so impressed, and just a little bit awed. Like she can't believe someone could so easily smash through her defences like that.

Yuzu's always had a knack for getting under people's skin, but Ichigo's always known to keep his defences up.

Still, looking at Rukia, he knows the feeling.

"Try living with her," he remarks, and when Yuzu turns to look at them with the same unwavering smile, the two straighten like they've been caught doing something they shouldn't.

Which, with the way they were leaning into each other just now, might be the case; Ichigo's nervous tick of rubbing the back of his neck isn't helping his case any, nor is the blush on either of their cheeks, and while Rukia is none the wiser, Yuzu _definitely_ knows.

Karin is sitting at the dining table with her textbooks spread across the surface.

Dad should still be at the adjacent clinic but – _"My children!"_ – No, no, God, no.

Ichigo has his foot in his father's face the second he comes around the corner. "Don't you dare, Old Man!"

"Gah, Ichigo!" he wails in disapproval.

"We have a guest, don't be an ass," Ichigo warns in turn. From the dining table, Karin snickers, but Yuzu sighs like she's both tired and embarrassed. Rukia is – quietly shocked, and then – with all the pomp and snoot of her fancy private school manners, Rukia scolds, "Ichigo, you're so rude, your dad's just trying to be welcoming."

His father's head and Ichigo's necks in her direction, both probably looking comically surprised.

In the throes of Karin wiping tears from her cheeks as she hiccups a laugh, their dad has managed to get out from under Ichigo's foot, and is all up in Rukia's space – grinning like the idiot he is as he shakes Rukia's hand in both of his. "And who is this wonderfully kind young lady who is too good for my son?"

"This is Rukia-chan," Yuzu introduces when Ichigo's still too baffled to say anything. "And don't be rude too, Dad, Ichi-nii's a catch, you know."

Rukia smothers a grin, and Ichigo – oh, god – "I hate you," he informs her to the contrary to which she cheekily tilts her head and pouts, "Oh, don't say that, you'll hurt all three of my feelings."

Dad, like the dick he is, jumps to her defence by bringing _Mom_ into it. He's immediately on the other side of the room where her blown up picture is, and he's weeping dramatic rivers, "Masaki – Masaki – Ichigo has brought home the perfect girl!"

"Oh for fuck's sake -" and Ichigo would start throwing down with his dear old dad if Rukia hadn't started laughing and – is this really the first time he's ever seen her do that?

And he knows he's staring. It's probably rude.

No, it's definitely rude.

Karin is judging him with a smirk.

Yuzu looks exasperated but fond.

And Dad is – telling Mom's portrait about grandchildren and – _no, no, no._

"We're going upstairs," Ichigo declares, and doesn't wait for Rukia to argue otherwise before he's tugging her out of the blast zone of his father's crazy, not that it stops the idiot from shouting, "Put a sock on the door if you need to!"

Rukia's still grinning by the time the door closes behind her, and Ichigo is so red in the face about this whole situation that he can't stop moving – hands in his hair, removing his school blazer, dumping his bag – all while pacing.

When he finally gets over the surge of adrenaline, Rukia's sitting on his bed and kicking her feet and – and welp, there he goes again.

"You don't need to be so embarrassed," she informs, smile still tugging at her mouth. "I like your family."

"They're crazy."

"They're family," she says instead, and he remembers abruptly that she – Rukia looks away, still smiling, voice soft, "They love you."

 _Idiot, can you be any less of a dick?_ "I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't," and she says it like she means it, and then she's looking back at him, unrepentant and already so different to the girl just thirty minutes before.

A lot can change if you let it, a lot can change when you try.

"How are you?"

He blinks. "I….shouldn't I be asking you that?"

She shrugs. "I'm fine." At the look he shoots her way, as if to convey the entire scope of their previous conversation in that tiny makeshift office at the hobby shop, she rolls her eyes and says, "Its fine, I'm fine."

"I said that a couple of days ago too."

At that, she looks up sharply.

"I was pretty close to not being fine, though the argument can be made that I wasn't, at all."

"What -"

He holds out a hand to stop her. "Nope, if you don't want to talk about it, I won't talk about it. It's called reciprocity." Pausing to consider how it sounds like a forced trade, he adds, "This isn't a pain for a pain. I don't – you don't owe me an explanation, but I'm not going to pretend that you didn't just scare the shit out of me. So even if – even if you're saying it's fine, that you're fine – can I ask, at least, that when I ask you that you'll mean it?"

At that, Rukia looks away, the earlier smile wiped clean, her expression pensive.

He sits in his desk chair, angled towards her slightly, though much further than they had been earlier. He doesn't want to trap her, doesn't even want to give the impression of it – _she'd looked scared of him earlier and that's –_

"I disappointed you."

"What?"

She licks her lips, still avoiding his gaze. "I – told you to try – to grieve – to move on – and I couldn't. How much of hypocrite could I be? I tried, in my own way, but it – it wasn't healthy or good and I didn't even know your name but seeing you – seeing you again on a day when I told myself I was doing good even if I hadn't eaten, even if I still didn't deserve to – I realized I was lying."

Shame. Guilt. _Fear._

His exhale is shaky. "Rukia…"

She swallows, and her eyes look glassy, though she blinks rapidly to ease it, reaching up to brush her fingers against her cheeks as if she can already feel the phantom tears rolling down them. With an almost smile, she admits, "I thought I was hallucinating you, to be honest. It…It wouldn't be the first time."

They don't say anything for a while, until finally he asks, "Will you eat?"

Her intake of breath sounds like a rattle, and he can already hear the question it asks _Do I deserve to?_

"You told me that you should never dilute how you're feeling," he eventually says, "so why are you?"

Startled, she looks at him. "W-what?"

"I denied mine with anger because it was easier. For a while, anger felt good until anger feels like nothing, and then nothing feels good." He takes a breath. "I don't want to assume that you're not eating for the same reason but -"

"Control," she interjects, "I don't eat because…its control, it's the only thing I have."

"You know that's not true."

"I'm not like you," she tells him both sharp and quiet, "I don't – Byakuya-sama and I aren't, we aren't really family."

He finds himself talking before he can think about it, "Then we can share mine."

Her mouth opens and closes wordlessly, and he's rubbing his neck. "I mean, you like them, and in the barely-there ten minutes you met them, they like you a lot more than they like me."

"That's -"

He smiles a little. "I know. But…you can, you know. My family, they're great, but they don't necessarily let people in either. We're all…kinda messed up, so if that's – if that's something you're okay with -"

"I…Ichigo…"

"I didn't realize how badly we all handled our mom dying, I didn't realize when we ever stopped trying; when we just grew content being alone but still together. But we can try."

And now she's looking at him like she's in awe of him, and he tries not to smile a little over how that warms him, and how sad it makes him that no one had ever offered –

"I'm just saying," he says quietly, "We can all try together."

It feels like an eternity passes before she finally says anything at all, and even when she whispers the word, it feels like it's strong enough to blow the whole house down, "Yes."


	8. Chapter 8

.

All we know

.

Ichigo sees the car as it peels away, and feels his lips twitch.

"Oi, Ichigo, are you even listening?" Keigo complains, and Ichigo's attention shifts from the gates of the school and the familiar figure in blue lingering on the sidewalk to Mizuiro, Chad, Uryuu, Tatsuki and Inoue surrounding him in a loose circle.

"What?"

"So you're not," Keigo wails.

Uryuu adjusts his glasses like he knows why, a smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. Dick.

Ichigo rolls his eyes, hitching his bag up. "What are you whining about now?"

"The spring festival, Ichigo," Keigo says in a long whine, and of course it's the festival, he hasn't shut up about that for the past two weeks.

"What about it?"

Spluttering, Keigo waves his arms around, declaring, "We need to strategize! They're releasing the stall-map soon! We need a game plan and to make sure we get a good spot for the fireworks!"

"It's still a month away, we've got time," he says already turning to leave against Keigo's protests.

"Oh, calm down," Tatsuki says over Keigo's dramatics with a long-suffering sigh. "He probably wasn't going to spend it with us anyway."

"Ah, Tatsuki! Why would you even say that? Who else is Ichigo gonna spend the festival with?"

"His family, maybe?" Inoue offers tentatively.

"Or his girl," Tatsuki says and Ichigo can practically see her eyebrows wiggling suggestively, and Ichigo regrets telling Tatsuki anything ever.

Not that he'd had much choice in the matter.

Tatsuki wasn't going to take 'none of your business' for an answer nor was she going to just let him get away with evading her. Plus, after seeing him through the worst days of his mother's death, Ichigo felt like he needed to assure her that after all this time, he was finally going to be okay.

Clearly, it had been the wrong thing to do because she'd been a little shit about it ever since.

"He has a girl?" Keigo asks deceptively quiet before he's suddenly shouting at Ichigo's back in a tone that's half praise and half accusing, "I knew it! I knew I've been seeing you smiling the past few weeks!"

Ichigo doesn't do anything more than wave his hand in goodbye, ignoring the heat in his cheeks at the suggestion alone, and attributing it instead to the sunshine greeting him at the gates.

"You know, you're making me look really bad," he informs her.

Rukia shoves her phone into the pocket of her coat and smirks as they fall into step. "I didn't take you as the type to experience fragile masculinity about this kind of thing."

"I have no problem with you walking me home."

"So?"

"The beret, though?" he says, leaning forward slightly to give her a look and she snorts, shoving him back with her arm.

"Oh, shut up. It's part of my school uniform and you know it," she sniffs. "Speaking of -" And then she's off talking about her day and then prodding him about his, and if anyone from his school sees them and double-takes at the sight, it's easy enough to ignore them.

Having Rukia around is odd in a way that it isn't odd at all.

After dinner that first night about two months ago, she trickles into the Kurosaki household like a summer rain; her voice, laughter and smiles like sunbeams through the clouds.

Sometimes he'll find her with the girls, talking in the kitchen and over homework spread out on the table, or watching some Korean drama in the living room that Ichigo pretends he isn't watching too. Sometimes he'll find her in the adjacent clinic, answering phones or patching up a scrapped knee when his dad is too busy being terrorized by the neighbourhood hypochondriac.

More often than not though, Ichigo finds Rukia with him.

Whether he's hanging out in his room – listening to music, talking shit, trying to get their homework done – or on the roof, watching the sky change – or sitting on a bench, keeping an eye on Karin while she plays soccer or waiting for Yuzu and her friends to finish up their window shopping.

He's taken her to see one of Chad's shows, and she's even hung out with him at Urahara's a few times over the weekend when he's got work.

It's like she's always been there, a shadow he didn't know he was missing.

And if she's bored at all by the comforting monotony of their lives, she doesn't show it. In fact, Ichigo would argue that she likes it.

He suggested once that they do something different, his own insecurity of her growing bored of them – of him, tugging him to uncomfortable places – led him to suggest going to one of Keigo's house parties. Ichigo had been forced to go once and hated it, but Rukia's never been and maybe –

"Please, no," she'd said when he offered in an overly casual tone, and then she froze, looking up at him quickly. "Not that I don't want to hang out with your other friends, but crowds aren't really…my thing," she'd finished lamely.

And there'd been a redness at her cheeks and she'd avoided his eyes, and Ichigo couldn't be any more pleased than if she'd told him she was planning to pull through with her threat of moving into his closet just to avoid having to leave.

Which is both a relief and not because the reason she's there at all – spending time with him and his family – is because she has no one else – and that thought turns the sunbeams watery, as if this whole tableau of Rukia with his family, with him, is just a painting recently done in watercolour, and is still too many hours away from drying completely.

That it can be wiped away, ruined, destroyed, makes his stomach churn.

This whole thing, this ease and contentment feels fragile, temporary; like a mirage Ichigo can only see under certain conditions – that Rukia be miserable – and lonely – and that she needs him – which he doesn't like at all even if a selfish part of him is glad that there's a reason that she's here, period.

He'd gone from only ever getting glimpses of her, fleeting moments, to this:

Her sitting on his bed, him facing her on his desk chair; his socked feet under her thigh while she uses the bridge of his legs to prop her own socked feet up.

Ichigo isn't quite sure how they end up like this every time.

He supposes it's an organic sort of arrangement; he liked sitting at his desk, but liked to put his feet up, and his bed _was right there._ Rukia liked propping her feet up on his chair whenever he'd get up to fetch them something to drink or to use the bathroom, and usually she'd lift her legs up and fold them beneath her, but then one day she hadn't, and he hadn't stopped her, had practically plucked them off his seat and on his lap, at one stage, and that was that.

Despite how comfortable it is, it feels like a stolen sort of intimacy, like it isn't meant for him, and now that he's put words to the feeling that's been prickling at his mind like a piece of gravel in his shoe he can't get out, he's apparently making a face about it.

When he looks her way, her brows are raised, mouth quirked at the corners like she's trying to stop herself from grinning.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything," she informs overly prim, and he throws her an unimpressed look that doesn't help his case at all when she starts laughing. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry; you look like someone spoiled _Boys over Flowers_ for you even though it's been ages since it finished," and she's still giggling as she says it that his own lips move in a smile.

That he wants her to never stop laughing, even if it's at his suspense does not make any of this easier especially knowing, in his bones, that how Rukia feels and how he feels are two different things.

He can't - he can't ask for anything more, not when she's just started smiling, and he's just now getting used to her laugh, not when, by her own admission Ichigo - his family, his home - are the only comforts she's known after Hisana passed away and - it wouldn't be fair that she'd go along with his feelings just to keep it.

His phone lights up in his hands, a message from Tatsuki teasing, _Ask her, ask her, ask her; you've got a month Kurosaki, don't waste it,_ and thinks, even if it's for a month, a year, ten - he won't put Rukia in that position, no matter what that means.


End file.
